The radio crackled."Unit 3, we've got a call about a loose dog on Maple Street. Near the elementary school."
I picked up the handset. "Copy that. En route."
I put the car in drive and headed into town.
The chicken was almost donewhen Mom came into the kitchen.
"Something smells good," she said, and I felt that small relief I'd learned to hold onto. Good days were getting rarer.
"Roasted chicken. Your recipe." I checked the oven. "Twenty more minutes."
She smiled and sat at the table, watching me work. For a moment it felt like how coming home used to feel.
"You didn't have to cook," she said. "I could have?—"
"I wanted to." I grabbed the salad bowl from the counter and set it on the table. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Dad's been living off frozen dinners for the past month."
"He has not."
"He has absolutely been doing that."
She laughed, and the sound made something in my chest ease. That was still her, still Mom.
Dad came in from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. "Smells good in here."
"Matthew made dinner," Mom said.
"I can see that." He hung the rag on the hook by the door and washed his hands at the sink. "How was the first day?"
"It was fine. Quiet." I pulled the chicken out of the oven and set it on the counter to rest. "Spent most of it on Route 12 with a radar gun. Did get called in for a loose dog situation, though."
"Exciting stuff," Dad said, but he was smiling.
"Very. The dog's name was Biscuit. A golden retriever. Took me ten minutes to catch her because she thought we were playing."
Mom laughed again. "Did you bring her back to her owner?"
"Eventually. After she rolled in a mud puddle and tried to get in the patrol car."
"Sounds about right," Dad said. He sat down at the table next to Mom, and I watched the way his hand found hers automatically. The way he squeezed gently, checking in without words.
I brought the chicken over and started carving. "Sheriff Davis seems decent. Didn't make a big deal about the detective thing. Just handed me a badge and put me to work."
"That's Jim Davis for you," Dad said. "Fair man. You'll do fine."
"What time do you start tomorrow?" Mom asked.
"Seven."
"That's early."
"It's not that early." I put chicken on each of their plates, then mine. "I used to start at six back in the city."
"The city," Mom said, like she was testing the word out. "All these hours. Must've been hard."
"Sometimes." I sat down and passed her the salad. "But I'm not doing that anymore."
She nodded and took a bite of chicken. "This is good, Matthew."
